


For All It's Worth

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Caretaking, Caring, Depression, Families of Choice, Father's Day, Father-Son Relationship, Gift Giving, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Mid-Canon, Multiple Selves, Nostalgia, Post-Divorce, Presents, Sadness, Surprises, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Voicemail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Chase prepares to spend Father’s Day alone in his room with a bottle, as he always does, but this year his plans turn out just a little different…They change for the better.





	For All It's Worth

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, but every single year he was away from them and Father’s Day came around, he couldn’t resist obsessively checking his phone for messages or voicemails and walking down to the mailbox every few hours to see if there was any news from them. It was the worst of agonies, but he put himself through it without fail and without regret. All he regretted was everything that had happened between him and their mother. If he had just managed to keep everything together, he would be with them today.

Instead, after he’d finally given up on the mailbox, he took himself to bed and limited his company to a bottle of wine. His whiskey was meant for depressing weekdays, not depressing holidays. _At the very least I can have a little class with my alcoholism_ , he mused humorlessly, emptying his third glass and refilling it just as quickly.

Wine made a different sound as it splashed into the glass, one that grated on his nerves, and yet he didn’t get up. He knew if she were here, Stacy would probably say he was just too lazy to get what he wanted or needed, but he wasn’t going to deny it. His mouth felt sore and dry from drinking too much too quickly and he could feel the telltale buzz swirling around in his head like a cloud of insects.

Sometimes wine could make him drowsy; maybe if he was lucky, he would nod off and sleep his way through a few hours so he wouldn’t have to endure _so many more_ of them. The more unaware he was of the passage of time, the better.

With another long sip of the wine that was probably staining his mouth red, he fumbled for his phone, poking and prodding until he could finally access his voicemails and scroll through the archive. A smile almost managed to emerge as he found one of his favorites, but it fell through in favor of a deep sigh as he closed his eyes and listened. This had been over the Saint Paddy’s Day weekend three years ago.

 _“Hi, Daddy! We just wanted to let you know that we’re having lots and lots of fun at Auntie Sarah’s house!”_ the seven-year-old Brianna exclaimed. _“And you’ll never guess what happened! We got a visit from the leprechaun here too! Connor didn’t think he’d find us since we’re not at home, but he did!”_

With a clatter and some muffled chatter, four-year-old Connor was able to snatch the phone away, interjecting, _“He gave us lots and lots of chocolate money! They’re really yummy, the best ever!”_

 _“Connor’s been eating way more of them than I have! He took some of mine,”_ Brianna pouted, though her sulking didn’t last long. _“So we’re going to get ice cream with Mama and Auntie Sarah later! I’m definitely getting strawberry and—Connor, what are you getting? Connor’s getting cookie dough!”_

The present-day Chase laughed softly, the sound catching in his throat as the kids rambled on about how they would spend their day, seeming to forget that this had just been a call to say hello. They carried on a conversation as if Chase had actually been on the other side, answering them and encouraging them to tell him more. By the time they managed to tell him that they loved him and gave their goodbyes, he was half-laughing and half-sobbing. When it ended, he shook his head and set the phone down on the nearby table with a clatter, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes to rid them of the tears were pooling hotly on his lashes.

As soon as he lowered his hands, he jumped, startled by the appearance of Jameson on the other side of the room. “Oh—Oh, h-hey,” he mustered, clearing his throat a few times in a poor attempt to rid his voice of its tipsy, emotional slur. “Hey, Jameson. What’re you doin’ here?”

For a long, long moment, Jameson simply stared at him, seeming unsure what to make of his current condition or of the wine bottle that was mostly empty. Chase huffed, making a vague, sloppy gesture at it.

“Jus’ celebratin’ in my own way,” he murmured with a wan half-smile. “What can y’do?” After a pause, his eyes drifted lower to the box clutched tightly in Jameson’s hands. “What’s that?”

 **“It…”** Jameson’s speech slide trailed off as quickly as it had surfaced and he shrugged instinctively as he moved forward, sliding it onto the bedside table and deciding, **“It’s nothing. What’s more important is how you’re feeling.”**

“Oh, I’m—I’m fine.”

Jameson’s mustache twitched disapprovingly in response as he perched on the edge of the bed, scooting up so his side was bumping Chase’s knee. **“I don’t feel that was a completely honest answer, my fine fellow.”**

“No, really, I’m…fine. I just…Y’know.” The vlogger made another vague gesture, hoping that Jameson would just fill in the blanks. He could feel his throat starting to hitch again; he didn’t want to spell it all out, so he kept it simple, his voice falling to a whisper. “I just miss ’em.”

At that, Jameson wasted no time leaning in and wrapping his arms around his neck in a warm hug. Chase remained completely still for a solid ten seconds and then exhaled shakily, curling his arms around Jameson’s back in return. He was squeezing him tighter than he probably should, but his resolve and control had been broken down by the wine and this stupid, excruciating holiday.

The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling, groggy and unsure of when exactly he’d fallen asleep. Jameson was gone and the slits of light peeking through the shade were considerably dimmer. It seemed he had slept through a decent amount of the day. As he propped himself up on his elbows, he peered around in utter bewilderment, noting that the bottle and glass had disappeared from his bedside table. All that remained was the neat little box Jameson had wrapped in navy blue paper. After scrubbing a hand over his face to clear his eyes of sleep, he reached for it.

It was heavier than he’d expected for such a small case, but the paper was sleek, shiny and smooth. Chase recalled briefly mentioning on his birthday that he was fond of that kind of paper; had Jameson really remembered that during all the pandemonium of the past few months? Gratitude curled in his chest at the thought and he did his best not to crumple or rip too much of it.

It was a watch, much like the one Jameson always had tucked into his vest, Chase realized, tsking softly in amazement as he pulled it out and ran his thumb over the silver chrome. Because he was still shaking off the nap, it took him a few moments to realize that it was engraved:

_For the finest friend and father,_

_Who saw a Jem in the rough and took time for me_.

 _You have all my love, for everything it’s worth_.

It was too late to stop the surge of tears now, Chase noticed belatedly, not even bothering to wipe at them as they raced down his cheeks.

It was worth more than Jameson knew.


End file.
